


Is it still me that makes you sweat?

by fuckofagun



Category: Bandom
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Crying During Sex, D/s, Dom/sub, M/M, Some consent-play, The character has a safeword and doesn't use it but does say no, handjobs, power dymanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckofagun/pseuds/fuckofagun
Summary: Ryan's being egotistical. Brendon does something about it.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Is it still me that makes you sweat?

Ryan’s getting on Brendon’s last nerve.

At first, he ignores it, preparing pretty smiles for the interviewers that they have the misfortune of meeting in the morning, and brushing off Ryan’s grumbled complaints with playful jabs at someone else. “I want to go home,” is deflected with “Hey, Jon, your fly’s unzipped!” (resulting in Jon pawing at his very much zipped fly in confusion), “I fucking hate interviewers. They don’t _get _it,” becomes “Spence, are you ever gonna get a haircut that your mother didn’t design?” (resulting in a halfhearted glare in Brendon’s direction), and “They think I’m only good for some tragic backstory they don’t even know,” doesn’t become much of anything, because that one hit, felt a bit justified. He was doing a pretty fucking good job of ignoring it, if he did say so himself. A spectacular job, one worthy of many awards. He would put them in his trophy case, if he had one.

Until Ryan spends the entire interview making eyes at the host. Brendon knows it isn’t to spite him, isn’t Ryan threatening to cheat, he just wants the questions. The attention. The interviewer completely focused on him and only him, not the band, never the band. Every time Ryan cuts in to answer something clearly directed at someone else, Brendon can’t help the way his shoulders tense and his throat closes up in annoyance.

So when they get home, Brendon takes an hour. Takes an hour to shower, listen to his good-mood playlist, and play around with a riff he has been working on for longer than he wants to admit. Once he’s calm, his brain isn’t overflowing with annoyance for one Ryan Ross, he checks the rooms of their apartment until he finds Ryan scribbling in his notebook on Brendon’s (turned both of theirs) bed, seeming completely unconcerned with the days events.

“Ryan.” He keeps his voice level, but suggestive, a string of verbal fishing line that yanks Ryan’s head up to look at him. Without even attempting to elaborate, Brendon just cocks his head. “Remember your word?” he asks, giving Ryan an out, if he wants it.

He doesn’t. “Yes,” his voice is already breathy, on the edge of what could be considered sultry, and his notebook lays by itself, long forgotten. Brendon watches him tense, just slightly, as if anticipating whatever Brendon is planning.

He crawls onto the bed, inching toward Ryan, letting the suspense hang in the air until his lips close around Ryan’s neck, on the flesh right under his jaw, in a wet, sloppy kiss. As if he can’t help himself, Ryan leans into it, breath quickening and halting in intermittent rhythms. When Brendon rests a hand over the crotch of Ryan’s jeans, he can feel his cock quickly becoming interested in his little game.

Ryan gasps Brendon’s name, the word becoming more and more muddled with choked off moans as Brendon continues down his neck, kissing across his chest, down his stomach, until his lips reach the jeans button. With deft fingers, he unbuttons them, and slides the jeans completely off of Ryan’s body.

For a few, leisurely moments, Brendon takes his time, stroking his hand up and down Ryan’s cock, licking the head occasionally just to be rewarded with a gasp. When Ryan’s fully hard, practically whimpering with need, Brendon stops. Ryan’s noise of disagreement is nearly entertaining. He would comment, but his focus is elsewhere. On his plan, to be carried out only with the aid of a smartphone.

Hand wrapped around Ryan’s cock, Brendon reaches over and grasps his phone, flipping it open and navigating to his music.

“What are you doing?” Ryan’s words come out in quick bursts, more gasps than words.

_Lying_ blares from the tinny speakers of Brendon’s phone.

_Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed?_

“What—” Ryan’s attempt at a question is quelled at the source, Brendon’s hand moving to cover Ryan’s lips and wrapping around the bottom of his jaw.

“If you’re going to be so egotistical,” Brendon’s words are deep, and he shapes them into a growl directly by Ryan’s ear, “Then the only way you can come is to your own fucking song. Got it?”

Brendon jerks his palm back when Ryan's teeth close around the tender skin, spitting out words as soon as he is able. “What— that’s fucked up, I don’t fucking want to do that. Turn it off.”

Brendon quirks an eyebrow. “You mean that? If you did, you’d use your word. I think you like it, the idea of people, the idea of _you, _getting off to the words you wrote. About sex. About _fucking.” _He emphasizes the word ‘fucking’, like he used to do on stage, during Nothing Rhymes With Circus, as much of a calculated move to make Ryan blush and his cock strain then as it is now.

“I—” Ryan hesitates, but remains stubborn. “No. I don’t want to. No one—who would jerk off to that, anyway? “ After giving Brendon an appraising glance, he intones, “You’re delusional.”

..._a hotter touch a better fuck_

“Am I?” The word ‘red’ still hasn’t left Ryan’s mouth, so Brendon takes it as an invitation to slowly, painstakingly, resume motion on Ryan’s dick. As if he can’t help it, Ryan flushes red when a moan rips out of him, his cock clearly having less moral and ethical objections to this than his brain.

“No,” he gasps out, hands waving in the air above Brendon’s hand, as if to stop it, but never quite committing. “I’m not— this is _weird.” _

“And hot.” Brendon shrugs. “And your punishment for being a royal bitch today in that interview. You’re not the whole fucking band, Ryan. _We _are. Spencer, Jon, me, you. _All of us.” _

With that, he squeezes, and before Ryan can protest any more, he doubles over in a groan. He’s so close, Brendon can feel it, just needs a few more moments to push him over the edge.

He’s also crying. At first, Brendon thinks that he might be seeing things, be making up the shine in the corners of his eyes, but his suspicion is confirmed with hot tears start trailing down Ryan’s cheeks, flushing them even more.

_We were just getting to the part, where the shock sets in and the stomach acid finds a new way to make you get sick..._

He doesn’t safeword. Brendon keeps jerking him off, not slowing even when Ryan comes, hard, a sob ripping from this throat, possibly from pleasure, possibly not.

When Brendon pulls his hand off, the last bars of _Lying _are still playing through the speakers._ Let's get these teen hearts beating, faster.._. He shuts it off, hand shaking.

“Ryan,” he murmurs, tugging at Ryan’s shoulder to bring his tearstained face into sight. “Hey, baby, you’re alright. Was that too much?”

Every time they do this, this thing that they’ve been working to perfect over the past few months, this precarious, unsteady, and utterly thrilling _thing, _this exchange of power, Brendon’s been afraid there will come a day when he utterly fucks it all up.

This feels like it could be that day.

“Ry?” he questions again, voice soft, a tone which he hopes to be soothing.

Ryan bites his lip, but shakes his head. “It’s— no. Not too much. You know I just don’t like to—cry.”

“I know. But it’s natural, that was…that was a lot.”

They’re alright. Brendon might entertain a sigh of relief, if he wasn’t too busy cleaning Ryan off and wrapping his entire body around him in an embrace, covering as much skin as he can.

“I’ll stop being such a dick in interviews,” Ryan says, a few minutes later, voice heavy with sleep. “Was just doing it to provoke you, y’know.”

“It worked.” And Brendon’s grinning now, cheeks creased with relief, and flushed with the remnants of arousal. “Next time, tell me before you plan to be a dick, we’ll make a proper scene of it.”

With a soft kiss, Ryan agrees.


End file.
